Eighth note
by Ellone Loire
Summary: Trust is one of man's treasures. But what if it was broken for the sake of vengeance? A tale of treachery and broken trust, the truth shall only be uncovered once the eighth note is played...


Disclaimer: All characters of FF8 belong to Squaresoft. No infringement is intended.

Eighth Note

By Caeruleus

 Prelude

_As the first drop of rain falls to the barren ground,            _

_I hear nothing but yet a familiar sound _

_The voices of those who refuse to believe _

_That the holocaust is about to be relived_

            Dusk settled firmly on the land. The sun, which looked like a blood filled artifact in the sky, began to disappear. The crimson shaded heaven was slowly replaced with the dark starlit sky. The blue moon smiled weakly upon the earth; letting itself be obscured by dark colored clouds.

            Still, the earth did not change. It remained a hazy wasteland; a chasm. The barren soil seemed to be of no use to anyone, not even as a place to dispose of the gone. No. It need not be a graveyard to dispose of the dead. It already was. It was a heap of corpses, a place where the dead outnumbered the living. Rivulets of crimson were flowing from almost everywhere, docilely flowing out of its origin. Blood reanimated the scorched ground, christening it not with life but with death.

            In that holocaust stood one single soul. The single victor over the numerous persons that lay upon the scorched earth. A single soul that attested the cold truth of the moment. They were dead and he was not. Being classified wasn't too much of a difference. He was dead too, in a way and so they are alive in a manner. His mind was dead; His memories were stirring up into oblivion. But it was the other way around for the gone. Their memories were still fresh and so alive. Their memories lay unforgotten upon the earth, screaming endless vengeance to those who had slaughtered them. Being alive or dead was just a state of being; wherein one was to suffer and the other was inured to suffering.

            His eyes peered over the corpses, feeling not a single emotion as he did. He didn't know why --- why they were dead or why he was standing before them. Everything was a complete blur. The only thing in his memory was this holocaust --- a perfect contrast to the crimson that happened a while ago. The color that reigned over his mind was crimson-- the color of this murderous miasma.

            He looked at his hand and saw it covered in blood. At the sight of this, he dropped his weapon. His gunblade was also soaked with blood. He once again looked at the heap of corpses.  Was he the one that murdered these people? Was he a murderer?

_"What a pity…"_    

            A voice of a little girl emerged from within the horizon, sending chills up to his spine. There was another being in that damned place. He didn't know what to do. His instinct blindly told him to dispose of the girl as well. He tried so hard not to obey. He clenched his fists so tightly to stop himself from doing harm to the child. The child returned a stare at him; a blank stare, as if she didn't know what he's one. But it's obvious, with his blood stained weapon and apparel, it was clear that he murdered those people.

"You're pitiful." The blue haired girl walked closer to him, not minding the risk of staining her immaculately white dress.  In her hand was a white rose, which she clenched so hard despite its thorns. 

            She looked up to him, because she was merely half his height. As their eyes met, he felt coldness that surpassed even his. This child had an enigmatic stare, which sent him a combined feeling of uneasiness and fright.

            "Look at them." She gestured to the heap of corpses. "These are the people that you desperately wanted to protect. Look at them now. Slain by their leader that they so well respected! Slain by who was supposed to be their protector. You killed them!" Her eyes looked like sapphire slits--- now a violent contrast to the miasma.

            He was rendered speechless. He was a testament to this genocide. Everything that the girl has said was true. He could only stare in his bloody hands in horror.

            "Isn't it a shame? _You _of all people… Don't you even know that it was not only the people in your lifetime that you killed? You killed also those who came before and after you. " Her eyes relaxed again and to his surprise, she even smile as she spoke. " You have done a felony of time. By your thwarting upon fate, you have caused a great deal of damage to the balance of the world. The perpetrator…. The catalyst…." She paused for a moment then stretched out her arm, which held the rose, as of offering it to him. "And by that, you should be PUNISHED!"  

            The moment she let out her last word, the stem of the rose elongated itself and started covering her small arms. The thorns have become much bigger and sharper like those of a mammoth's tusk. The girl let her hand to his stomach, piercing him thoroughly and damaging his insides so badly. He spat a sharp cry of shock as the girl twisted his insides before releasing him.

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Author's note: Different symbolisms lie in this chapter and I'm leaving them to you, dear reader to find out. I'm leaving the interpretation to you. Please bear in mind that this is the prelude, and much of the story's first hand view is here. So please do read and understand. †


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